


i am flesh and i am bone

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Fae & Fairies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Geralt is pretty sure Jaskier isn’t quite human. He has a list of evidence, really, he does. And it starts with a petty challenge issued by Jaskier one night at a tavern.The list grows from there.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 120
Kudos: 3670
Collections: THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH





	i am flesh and i am bone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [troubadore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubadore/gifts).



> a birthday gift for dallie!!! happy birthday!! i love you!!!

Geralt is pretty sure Jaskier isn’t quite human. He has a list of evidence, really, he does. And it starts with a petty challenge issued by Jaskier one night at a tavern. They’re fresh out of a contract, flush with coin, and Jaskier is six mugs of ale deep when Geralt frowns at him and covers Jaskier’s next mug with his hand.    
  
“Slow down,” he says by way of explanation. “I don’t want to carry you back to the room.”

Jaskier gives him a crooked grin, eyes far too clear for how much alcohol Geralt knows he’s consumed. “What, you think I can’t handle my alcohol?” Geralt gives him a  _ look _ and Jaskier’s grin gets wider. “Okay then, dear Witcher, let’s have a friendly challenge shall we?”

And Geralt should say no. He knows exactly how much alcohol it takes to get past the Witcher mutations and get him drunk, and he knows that that amount is enough to kill a human. But Jaskier is still giving him that smug grin, like he knows Geralt is going to say no, to back out, and well...Geralt was always up for a competition. It’ll be the bard dealing with the consequences in the morning.    
  
Geralt removes his hand from the bard’s mug. “Fine.” 

That’s how Geralt finds himself with a killer hangover the next morning. He didn’t even know Witchers could  _ get _ hangovers, but here they were. Jaskier was seated at the table on the other side of their room, eyes bright and not a hair out of place. 

“Morning!” 

Geralt groans at the noise. Jaskier just laughs. 

“Told you so,” is all Jaskier says, before he goes downstairs to fetch them breakfast. 

Geralt can’t decide if he’s impressed or concerned, but he does file away the information that Jaskier is apparently  _ unaffected _ by human liquor for later. 

The list grows from there. 

Jaskier heals unusually fast, for a human. There was a memorable time when he’d gotten stabbed, and Geralt had wrapped the wound that night. The next day, when the bandages were removed, it was already scabbed over and looked halfway healed. It faded to shiny pink and then silvery white over the next few days. 

Now, Geralt wasn’t 100% sure about the healing speed of humans, but he was sure it took longer than a week for a decently deep stab wound to heal over and scar. He tried to ask Jaskier about it, but every time he broached the subject the bard would smile his half smile and dance just out of reach. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. There were too many coincidences, too many situations where Jaskier was just a little  _ too fast _ and a little  _ too strong. _ And sometimes, when Jaskier speaks, the medallion resting against Geralt’s chest vibrates just slightly, like it’s detecting magic or a monster, but the only person around is Jaskier. 

The air never smells like magic when this happens, nor does anything extremely special happen. But then Geralt catches Jaskier speaking softly to his swords one day, after a near miss had left Geralt bleeding into the dirt. He couldn’t hear what the bard said, but his medallion vibrated softly. After that, his swords never missed again. He would feel them jerk sometimes, readjusting their path through the air, without any help from Geralt, and then they would strike true. 

When Jaskier tended his wounds and spoke words of comfort and healing over them they sealed up faster, neater. Geralt’s medallion buzzed in warning the whole time. 

Then there’s Jaskier’s scent. When the bard has been around for a while, Geralt doesn’t notice anything strange, but when the bard leaves and comes back, Geralt catches a hint of something not human. Something like ash. Something like the unnatural stillness that comes when the wind dies. Something like the monsters Geralt is used to hunting. 

But Jaskier is just a bard who chatters too much, sleeps around too often, who has seen Geralt at his worst and has still never stunk of fear. Jaskier is not human, Geralt is certain, but he’s not a monster.

That leaves the question though, if Jaskier is not fully human, then what is he? Geralt has a feeling that if he asked, the bard wouldn’t tell him. He would dance out of reach and distance himself like he did every time anyone pried too deep. Geralt knows a little of Jaskier’s past, but the man is hesitant about what information he gives out. 

Here’s what Geralt knows: Geralt knows that Jaskier is an only child. He was born to a single mother, raised in a small town and sent off to temple at age 8 and then to Oxenfurt when he was 14. He was 18 when he approached Geralt in that tavern in Posada, now he’s just shy of 40 and still looks like he did the day they met. 

As it turns out, the answer is easier to get than Geralt expected it to be. They’ve stopped for the night and are camping in the woods, about a day's ride from any town, but there’s a stream nearby and Geralt has caught and cooked rabbits for dinner. The sky is clear and the breeze is light. It’s as good a night as they’re going to get. 

Or it was going to be, until Jaskier suddenly sits upright from where he’d been half dozing against a tree trunk. The scent of panic permeates the clearing. 

“Jaskier?” The bard turns to him, eyes wide and startled. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt has seen Jaskier surprised, seen him scared, happy, angry and everything in between, but Geralt has never seen this particular blend of terror before. 

“We’ve got to go.” Jaskier is already standing, gathering his supplies at a pace Geralt is unfamiliar with. Usually, at best, Jaskier is no help when it comes to packing up camp, but right now he’s already got his bedroll tied up and his lute strapped into its case. 

“Jaskier, what-”

The bard turns on him, and he’s breathing heavy. Geralt stands and slowly makes his way over. 

Jaskier backs up and curses. Geralt’s medallion vibrates in warning. Jaskier is trying to tell him something, but there’s a ringing in his ears. Geralt sets one hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, and the world goes white. 

* * *

Geralt comes to with a groan. He can hear Jaskier speaking somewhere off to his left, and he sounds agitated. Through bleary eyes, Geralt examines his surroundings. 

It looks like the inside of a palace courtyard, but brighter, cleaner than any palace Geralt has ever seen. Flowers bloom from every corner available, and their overwhelming scent makes Geralt’s nose itch. 

He sits up slowly. The motion attracts the attention of everyone in the courtyard, namely Jaskier and the two powerful (very powerful, judging by their...everything, really) fairies standing at the opposite end of the courtyard.

That’s who Jaskier had been arguing with. Arguing with a fae never ended well. 

“Ah, Witcher, you’re awake. Good.” Jaskier is by his side in an instant, one hand wrapped in the straps of Geralt’s armor to tug him up. “It’s time to go.” 

“Oh but  _ Julian, _ we haven’t seen you in so long.” There’s magic wrapped around the name Julian, and Jaskier flinches. The fairies’ voices are coated in honey, sticky sweet. Honey always trapped more flies than vinegar. “We miss you.”

The hand wrapped around Geralt’s strap clenches tighter, knuckles white and fingernails digging into the soft flesh of Jaskier’s palm hard enough to draw blood. Geralt places his hand on top of Jaskier’s and works it loose. He doesn’t let it go. 

With Jaskier out of immediate danger, Geralt assesses the situation. They’re in the fae realm, trapped with two fairies who obviously know who Jaskier is. They want something from Jaskier, but Geralt can’t say what yet. 

Apparently, Jaskier’s real name is Julian, but that’s information to be assessed at a later date, preferably when two fairies aren’t staring Jaskier down like he’s a piece of meat. 

_ "Julian." _ The fairies are speaking again, using Jaskier’s name like reigns on a horse to steer his attention where they want it. The honey has slipped from their voices, replaced by steel.

The use of name magic makes Geralt twitchy. He’s never particularly liked the magic of names. Witchers dealt in signs, in potions, in swords and in violence, but never in names. The idea of having power like that over a person leaves a sour taste in the back of Geralt’s throat. No wonder Jaskier changed his name. 

Jaskier grits out a response, and the fairies take that as a sign to continue. 

“We want you to come home, your father misses you.” 

Part-fae then. Explains a lot, actually.

“No.” Jaskier stands tall, but Geralt can see the sweat beading on his forehead, the way his hands are twisted around the strap of his lute case to keep them from shaking. The sickly scent of fear overpowers the sweet scent of the flowers. 

Jaskier is afraid, and that’s enough to get Geralt to intervene. He lets go of Jaskier’s hand and grabs a fistful of the soft silk of Jaskier’s doublet, reminding the bard that he’s here - that he has a Witcher at his back. 

The fairies focus on the motion, and their soft smiles become sharp grins. “May we have your name, Sir Witcher?”

“You may  _ know _ my name, and then we are leaving.” Geralt dips his head slightly. “My name is Geralt.”

Beside him, Jaskier takes in a sharp breath. 

The fairies’ grins become impossibly sinister. “Leave now,  _ Geralt. _ Leave the bard and never return.” 

Geralt’s medallion vibrates when the fairies try to enforce power over Geralt’s name. The magic washes over Geralt’s skin, tingles where it touches, but it doesn’t linger. Geralt bears his teeth, furious that the fairies lured them here. He was furious that they were threatening Jaskier, that they thought that something as petty as the power of  _ names _ would drag Geralt from  _ his _ bard. 

“As I said, you may  _ know _ my name. You cannot  _ have it," _ Geralt growls. Dealing with tricksters like the fae was always a practice in loopholes. “Now, you know my name, and we’re leaving.” Geralt tugs Jaskier back half a step. 

The fairies have shifted gears, and are now focused on Jaskier again. “Come home,  _ Julian."  _ The honey is back, sickly sweet and suffocating.

Jaskier takes an unsteady step forward, and then another. Geralt never lets go of his doublet, and the fabric strains under his grip. Before it tears, Jaskier stops, head tilted to the side like he’s considering something new to him. He takes a hesitant step backwards, and looks delighted when he’s able to do so. 

He keeps walking backwards until his back is flush with Geralt’s front. Only then does he turn around to face Geralt. His eyes are soft as he wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck.  _ “I am home.”  _ He breathes the words like they’re a sudden realization, like a prayer, like they’re his salvation. They’re a private declaration, only spoken loud enough for Geralt to hear. 

One of Jaskier’s hands settles over Geralt’s medallion, holding it tightly like an anchor. Something warm settles in Geralt’s chest. 

_ "What?”  _ The fairies hiss. 

“I said,” Jaskier wheels around to face them again, but he never releases his grip on Geralt’s medallion. “I said that  _ I am home, _ and it’s not here in this realm. My home is with  _ my _ Witcher.” 

Geralt pries Jaskier’s hand off his medallion and takes it in one of his own. He takes a step backwards and Jaskier follows. They steadily inch closer to the exit, and with each step the fairies’ expressions become more and more murderous. 

“Where are you going,  _ Julian?" _

Jaskier gives them a soft smile. “I’m going home, like you said.” They’re at the threshold now, one more step and they’ll be free of the godforsaken realm. “Goodbye.”

Geralt steps backwards, and it feels like they’re falling. 

* * *

They manage to not talk about it for two days, but then the first night they’re back in an inn, Geralt’s curiosity gets the best of him. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jaskier’s fingers stumble and strike a sour note on his lute, and he winces. “Probably not.”

“Why?”

“I…” Jaskier pauses and assesses Geralt, who is sitting on the bed on the other side of the room. “At first I was afraid. I mean, a Witcher’s whole job is to hunt things non-human so I wasn’t sure it would be the best idea to oust myself like that.” Geralt opens his mouth to speak, but Jaskier presses on. “But then I got to know you, your headstrong morals and the way you smile at children, the way you say you never get involved, but then you do... but by then...it felt like it was too late. I didn’t want anything to change so I never brought it up.”

Geralt hums in response. “That night in the woods, what happened?”

“We got too close to an entrance and they called me back. They have my name, and that gave them power over me. But…” Jaskier pauses and trails nimble fingers up the edge of his lute. “My father kidnapped my mother. Fairies like pretty things, and she was a pretty thing. Then she got pregnant, and she pleaded with my father to let her go. She promised them that her child would be beautiful and have a voice like silk to match and that, when they wanted, they could have her child.” 

Jaskier’s mouth twists into a hard line and his grip goes white-knuckled on his lute. “She tried to hide me, but what a fairy wants a fairy usually gets. They took me when I was 8, but they didn’t want the child. They wanted my voice, my music. They beat music and literacy into me, cut out my tongue when I sang wrong and then laughed as they watched it grow back...among other things.”

Geralt’s expression darkens. He had known that the fae were fickle creatures at best, but he had forgotten how cruel they could be. “You escaped.”

“I did. I was human enough for them to have power over, but fae enough to get out. Honestly, I think I got lucky, more than anything.” Jaskier sighs and sets his lute aside. He’s done playing for the night, the mood now far too somber for any of the new ballads he was working on. “I was there for 6 years. In the human realm, 60 years had passed. My mother was dead, and I had no home, so I went to Oxenfurt. I still loved music, despite everything, and I wanted to learn more. After that…” Jaskier shrugs slightly. “I became a wandering bard. They couldn’t find me if I didn’t stay. I changed my name, reinvented myself.”

“You have one now.” 

The statement feels out of place and Jaskier just blinks at him. “I’m sorry?”

Geralt huffs. “You have a home now. You said so yourself.” 

Even in the dim firelight, Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s grin spreads slowly across his face, revealing teeth that are just a little sharper than normal. His eyes glow an unnatural shade of blue, and Geralt realizes that Jaskier is comfortable enough to drop the glamor he must’ve been controlling. 

A rumble spreads from the center of Geralt’s chest at the show of trust. “Come home, Jaskier.” There’s no magic woven into his voice. Witchers don’t deal in names. 

Jaskier comes to him anyways. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from [glitter & gold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrV90gXmOpA) by barns courtney


End file.
